Enigma
by Inoue Ayumi
Summary: - "As a little child, I thought the world was fascinating. Every little occurrence of nature astounded me, silently imploring me to unravel its mystery." Remus contemplates the enigma called life. Character Death. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter, and any coincidences to real life found in here is completely.. coincidental. Heck, I don't even know why I'm writing a disclaimer. It's called FANfiction! Don't you lawsuits ever understand the emphasis on _fan_?

**Summary:** "As a little child, I thought the world was fascinating. Every little occurrence of nature astounded me, silently imploring me to unravel its mystery." Remus contemplates the enigma called life. Character Death. May be OOC to some. Oneshot.

**Warnings: **Eh, not much. Just that there is **Character Death** in here. Oh, and Remus might seem **OOC** in this story.

**Notes:** I apologise if he lacks any emotions or seems too vapid, or if he is reticent or oblique. Constructive criticism is welcome. (This is after all the first time I am writing something like this.) No flames though.

As a little child, I thought the world was fascinating. Its wonders and paradoxes; its surprises and changes. Every little occurrence of nature astounded me, silently imploring me to unravel its mystery. The fluttering of a butterfly's wings; even something as simple as that can pique my curiosity. I long to discover why nature had created a significant picture of beauty in the form of wings. Nature has its way - it creates everything for a reason. It is only up to people like me to figure it out.

Every little thing always had me enraptured. Why was the sky blue? Why were the clouds unreachable? Why? The questions were endless, as were my curiosity. My parents always said I was bright. I always had a will to learn, to find out why things were, when other people just let it be. I never gave it a rest, did I? I treated every mystery and discovery like a fragile object. It was almost addictive, knowing new things and wanting to find more. The world was fascinating, and I longed to find out why.

In school, things were the same. I was the same bright child everyone knew. I was always silently wondering _why_, why was it that I am different? Everyone else, they relaxed and accepted things just the way they are. But by asking this, I was feeding my own burning curiosity, the fuel of my imagination. I _had_ to know more, and I didn't know why. And that just added to my never-ending list of questions.

I discovered the library, and its vast magnificence of knowledge. It became my sanctum, providing me satiety every time I came upon a new shining gem of discovery. I kept it safe in the alcove of my mind, feeling the usual warmth whenever I knew something. I wanted to know more; I wanted to unravel this enigma called life.

Life. The word alone has given me much speculation, leaving me to wonder what sort of game it was playing at. It toys with our affections, relives our memories and blinds our conscience with emotions. What sort of lesson does it want us mortals to learn? What truth is underlying its mysterious surface? Of what purpose does it ruin our pillars of support, only to rebuild it some time later in life?

As I grew up, I had concluded a few facts on life. No matter what you do, no matter what you feel, it will affect someone else in the world. It's an unexplainable chain, a cause of many disastrous things. The more mysteries you unravel, the more pop up, making you realise that the world is not just a never-ending mine of enigma; it _is_ one. And lastly, life is nothing like what it seems. There are moments when it just seems like a reverie, and there are times when it just takes you by surprise, never leaving a moment for you to contemplate it.

But then things change, and I grew up.

The carefree moments of childhood were gone, as were the innocence of life. The war had beckoned us amateurs of life into its cataclysmic traps, ripping loved ones away from us, leaving us to mourn for them. This was how I changed. This, was how life showed how cruel it can be, and how _the world is not fascinating_. Yet to some, it is. Deaths everywhere, screams of terror as I ran past the horrors of life. Some watched in morbid fascination as their loved ones are killed. And there are worse kinds of people, who enjoy killing their own relative, be it sibling or cousin. It just so happened that that cousin was one of my best friends.

I knew from then on that the ethereal peace of childhood was way behind me. It was an ephemeral bliss, being safely hidden away from the devastating nature of the war. To know that you were protected, by your school or by your parents, and that it wasn't you who was standing at the front lines, or in the thick of the bloodshed. But by the time you start to appreciate these moments, it gets torn away from you, revealing the reality of life.

No words could describe how it scarred me for life.

I remember, touching a butterfly's wings, then watching it fly to someplace else. I remember, holding a delicate rose, giving it tender loving care. I remember, gently blowing a dandelion, watching the white seedlings flutter away. I remember, how nature meant beautiful, and life was beautiful in all ways possible. Then I was introduced to the nature of war, where killing was essential, where pain was needed, and where screams of pain became music to our ears.

My friends were slowly leaving me alone. My parents were soon distancing themselves from me. And as friends turn into enemies, and enemies become allies, I realised that _life is a fine mingling of letting go and holding on,_ [1] something I could never balance. Everyday, I tried to expiate the deaths I had indirectly committed. With every plan I set out, and every step I suggest, I was merely contributing another tomb to Death.

The older I get, the more funereal the tension became. Mournful cries filled the air, obituaries became longer and longer, and I became more alone. But by distancing myself from everyone, I left another lonely soul in the war, the soul I was meant to protect. My surrogate godson had been reaching out to me, trying to grasp what little is left of my happiness, but I had been pushing him away. Why, I do not know. It was another of life's mysteries, and for now, I just did not want to unravel it. This interminable pain had caused me much grief, and as I found solace in front of the roaring fire in my home at night, from everything else, I noticed that I had changed. Everything had.

When was the last time I saw my friends? When was the last time I met my family? When was the last time I had the time to sit down and drink a cup of tea, contemplating my life? Even more so, when was the last time I smiled a sincere smile, one that reached the eyes and had every once of sincerity in it? The only smiles I had seen throughout these dark years were those of dark intentions, of victory and of insanity.

Insanity. Was I becoming insane? I had no longer become enticed by the abstruseness of the world. It was once my nature, and I had left it. Left it for the intense warfare I was forced into.

Nothing was ever a simple puzzle anymore; everything had become a conundrum. How many times have I asked myself why I contributed to this struggle in humanity, how many times I wanted to get away.. but because I had a role to play, I had to stay, to keep on striking off names on the list of the living innocents. I was in the thick of this warfare, something I had not wanted to do in the first place.

Life always has a strange way of being optimistic. The bright side of my role? Someone else has it worse than me. Yes, _this_ is supposed to be the bright side. Knowing that someone, like my godson, has the weight of the entire world on his shoulders at such a young age. He had grown- no, _aged_ as time flies by. He never had a happy childhood, for which I am sad for. Life also has a strange way of choosing our heroes, but in the midst of this war, is it really that unthinkable anymore? Life is strange.

Things began to change when I was doing my nightly patrol in Hogsmeade. It saddened me greatly to see so many buildings all destroyed, as if they were just an obstacle in the first place.. but they were not. They were the remnants of my memories, when happy times were still possible. Even now, as I walked down the bloodstained cobbled path, I can see phantoms of my friends, laughing away and having butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks, or standing awestruck at the latest Comet broom at Quality Quidditch Supplies.. it was these good times that kept me fighting, these good times that gave me the will to live.

No human is a saint, because each of us has that part of our soul that is full of malice and evil, intent on killing and getting revenge. I am no exception, for I feel extreme loathing towards those who have robbed my friends and family the chance to live. I want to avenge their deaths, because no one deserved to have happiness taken away from them, just like that.

The cheerful air of Hogsmeade had been replaced with a dreary one. Shops are closed, buildings are destroyed and hardly anyone goes there anymore. Every time I pass by this little village, the village I once considered a second sanctum, I start to cry. It may sound very weak of me, I know, but times change and even the strongest of men have to cry sometimes.

I walked on, feeling more depressed with every step, when I stumbled upon this shrub. It was no ordinary shrub; it had a lot of thorns and not many leaves left. But there, right in the heart of the tangle of thorns, lay a single red rose, sitting quietly as if waiting for its death. On an impulse, I reached out and gently plucked it, never mind the pricks I felt from accidentally brushing against the thorns.

On my palm, lay the most beautiful rose I had ever seen. It had lifted my spirits a lot, and you must be wondering why.

Because, my friends, here on my palm, lay a fragment of the nature I used to know, the nature that made the world so _fascinating _and life so _intriguing_. It unleashed the curious youth in me, like how it had never failed to in the past. The rose was so delicate, so fragile. It spoke volumes of its strength and determination among the thorns. It was a perfect mirror of me.

There are times when a rose wilts - when you are feeling low and there is no one around to support you. But then there are times when you get up and get ready to face the world again - when you get a mood uplift, even from the most simplest things. No matter how many raindrops you collect, and no matter how many hurricanes you prevail, you will always get back up again to face the world. A rose is a rose, simple as that; but it is fragile yet strong, weak yet determined, and that really is all you need to _move on_.

That is another thing about life. If you had to sum it up in three words, it'll be that _it goes on_. I suppose that is a flaw of myself; I cannot seem to move on. My past is holding me back, and I do not make the effort to strive forward. It is like being stuck in a endless nightmare that replays itself when it nears the end.

My speculation on life will never end. Every theory will start a question, and every question has endless answers. That is the way of life. _It goes on_.

Unraveling mysteries has always been a part of my life. Old habits die hard, no? Just the very thought of deciphering life's riddle fascinates me. But when you, if ever, find its true meaning, you have already wasted half of your life.

And so as I lay on my deathbed, I harness every ounce of my energy to speak to the young boy- no, man kneeling in front of me.

Do not despair, Harry, for I am always here with you, deciphering life's puzzle, unraveling nature's riddle and giving you my wholehearted support. Even if you do not know I am right here behind you, picking up your pieces should you ever drop them in this cold war.

Do not worry about me, do not lose focus because of my death. I am truly sorry for leaving you; I know that I am one of the last few people you hold dear. Do not be mournful, Harry. Move on. I am alright; people living deeply have no fear of death.

I know that you will succeed, Harry. Bring down the man that caused us great loss, and avenge the deaths of your loved ones. Do not give up even when everyone walks out on you, Prongslet, for when the whole world tells you to give up, hope whispers to try one more time.

A butterfly's flight, a dandelion's fluttering; the simplest things in life are the things that we need most to succeed. The ever burning curiosity that is deep within us never lets us down, so do not ever think that knowing too much will be your downfall.

And so as I breathe my last breath, as I see your emerald eyes so full of grief for the last time, as I recall my past and present, I bequeath my knowledge to you Harry, and hope you understand what I mean.

The world is fascinating, and life is a mystery. I am one of the fools who have wasted half my life on deciphering it.

_But now I have come to believe that the whole world is an enigma, a harmless enigma that is made terrible by our own mad attempt to interpret it as though it had an underlying truth._

But it did not have one; the enigma was just there all along.

[1] This quote is by Robert Frost, an awesome guy.

The second last sentence is a quote by Umberto Eco. I really loved it and it is because of this quote that I wrote this story. It serves as an inspiration to me during my darker times.

So.. how was it? That was Remus' speculation on life, and how he had wasted half of his on trying to decipher it. I think I can write better than this, but I am tired now and I have an exam tomorrow. Haha.

To all you readers out there, thank you for reading this, and if you actually read this verbatim and did not skip a few lines, thank you & congratulations. I hope that this tells you life is not meant to be deciphered; it can be contemplated, yes, but never deciphered, for there are too many tangles within it for us to understand. Let it be.

Do leave a review if you are feeling generous enough to do so.

~ Xiahou Ayumi


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